My mom left when I was 11, and my dad raised me alone. He wasn’t perfect, but he was always there—working extra shifts, showing up at every game, even learning to braid my hair. Last week my mom called, sick and asking to come back, but I said no. Yesterday, I learned she had died. I didn’t feel the loss of her, but of the closure that never came. Sitting with my dad that night, I realized the truth: family isn’t just who gives you life, but who gives you love—and he was the one who truly raised me.
